


Bittersweet

by route101



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Post-Canon, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:52:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/route101/pseuds/route101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 25 years post Team Flare disbandment. Lysandre has finally been released from prison on good terms, granted immortality, but one question remains: will the people who always believed in him still stand by his side?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hygieidoodles.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hygieidoodles.tumblr.com).



> This is a gift for Hygiei! I hope you enjoy the fanfiction, I tried making it something sweet for the Christmas time.
> 
> The theme is 'bittersweet', so it'll be mentioned a few times in the story. (Also, I have no idea how to make chapters, so excuse the length.)

Fate was so incredibly lenient, time and time again.

The remnants of Geosenge were ravished, to the extent none dared to tower near the orifice in which remained, numerous rocks scattered as if to display something remotely similar to an ‘unmarked’ grave for grunts far too slow in the heat of the moment. It was bittersweet in a sense; to have survived a blast, yet the aftermath resulting in the slander of a name in which climbed the social ladder with ease.

Bloodied knuckles and a hoarse voice, lungs clouded with debris and eyes swollen to the extent it was as dark as the hole he had been plunged into, injuries deemed fatal were recovered from in all due time, thankfully due to the workings of immortality itself.

The streets of Kalos were adorned in lights of red and green, carols sung as if they were an anthem, children and adults alike. A life sentence merely consisted of 25 years, with parole. Given his relationships with government officials, Lysandre was almost reluctantly given a release date.

It was the same plea, over and over again. He valued his pride far more than to lie. Words fell off his tongue as fast as the gavel hit, a simple ‘I plead guilty under the account of attempted genocide’.

Today was the day in which he was released to the public, some fearing his freedom, others having aged far too much to care more than they did at the time.

“Lysandre, how do you feel? You’re a free man now, huh? All those fancy schmancy lawyers, all those scientists… and you said your team abandoned you!” A raspy voice muttered, a man having long since served his sentence far too many times linked eyes with the former boss, chapped lips pulling themselves into a thin lined smile. “I wonder what the world has to wait for you. You weren’t really much of a talker, hah, but I really know we had something in here!”

Lysandre hadn’t aged a day from then on out, the occasional scar or two bearing a marking for the experiences he had gone through.

The clanking of the cell door was more than enough to signify it was just about time for him to leave. A good behaviour bond, parole, he was surprised he hadn’t been left to rot.

-

Cold air struck his nostrils as something fierce, breath visible as the illumination of the Kalos Gym. An escortation from the prison by guards was bound to gain the attention of onlookers.

“So, we’re kinda guessing it’s gonna be difficult to get you employed. I would’ve chosen to stay back there, instead of being left to whatever the public has in store for you.” There were hints of distaste evident in the body guards voice, hands clamped firmly onto the former bosses shoulders. “So, we’ve needed to add you to some rehabilitation work. Lucky for you, some poor soul took up the offer. Feel sorry for the guy, you’re lucky you were even released.”

It was a painstakingly long drive, the driver having almost tauntingly cruised across the homes of happy families; silhouettes dancing along with a Christmas cheer, pep in each gesture made. At this time of night, it had struck his curiousity on who worked to such an hour. A lonely old man to his wits end? He really shouldn’t jump to assumptions.

If not for the illumination, it would have been hard to see the building before him. The street itself had been revamped in its entirety, clad with marble and trees that towered down above him. Aside from numerous cars parked alongside the street, it was somewhat unnerving to see something of a dead street.

“Right, so. We’re here.” The tone was endearing. Laced with pity, maybe so. With a curt thanks, Lysandre departed from the car, loafers clacking against paved roads, brushing against tiled blocks. It was an odd feeling, to have not been barred in chains or the recipient of nasty glares and the such.

Wheeled suitcases clacked against the footsteps, chafed fingers brushing over silver handles. It had grown apparent now that he stood before the place he’d stood before so many times prior.

“Ah, Sycamore. Your lab seems to have changed a bit.” Was a curt mutter under his breath, pushing against the handles as the aroma of cooked foods and cleaning supplies mixed into something of an odd stench. It infiltrated his nostrils, if not accompanied by the strong musk of the cologne his colleague tended to douse himself with as if it were water.

Clasping his hands together, a swivel on the heel, the professor himself clasped his hands together, a trademark grin spreading from ear to ear. “Welcome to the Kalos Labs! Aha, I’m in the middle of a celebration with my good friend Dia-“

Mouths agape, glasses shattered against tile. The note on his release apparently hadn’t been transferred as quickly as he wished it to have been, a distinct strain in his breath soon made it evident Sycamore had found himself in a place where, for the first time, he hadn’t the slightest of idea on what to say. “Lysandre, I… see now. We tried our very best to get your release. We’d hope it wasn’t in vain.”

He was merely taken aback. Forms lost, he hadn’t known of the slightest that the apprentice in which he’d be receiving would be from the prison itself. It was something of an uncomfortable silence now, what were seconds seemed to be hours.

“What’s the wait? You’ve been looking forward to this roast for awhile now, Augustine.” Apron and oven mitts brushed against one another, the dazzling gleam and aura surrounding the champion was as if it were an unveiling of a fine marble statue.

It struck him, it was almost bittersweet in a sense. To have aged within the span of 25 years, it surely took its toll on them. An occasional wrinkle in places formerly clear skin had decorater them as if it were a canvas, it tended to slip his mind time and time again that the remnants of the future were now this.

Oddly enough, none of his colleagues opted to remove themselves from the position, a champions cloak billowing from oncoming gusts, notable prestigious science awards visible from any desk. (Of course, alongside a clutter of paperwork and handwriting that could easily be compared to the written variation of ‘speaking tongues’.)

Air was thick, strangling, even. The only noises being those of sharp inhales or an occasional foot tap to break the mood.

“Forgive me. I understand that you’re having your Christmas dinner, but I had hoped you’d all known of my arrival just now.” Lysandre spoke in the same tone he did years before, eyes practically fixated onto the two of them. Events come and events past, he wasn’t exactly capable of removing past deeds.

Augustine.. no, _Sycamore_ , hadn’t changed in the slightest. (Was he in the right to address him by his first name?) Notable for his odd procedures, such as preparing a Christmas dinner in his own lab instead of going to dinner, it almost brewed a nostalgic chuckle deep within his chest, one in which he was quick to silence.

How exactly were they to go about this?

Puzzle faces morphed into weak, yet genuine smiles. They were unresponsive as is, but could he really blame them?

“If we had given up on you, we would have never tried to get you out of that jail. I see now, we’re all thinking of the past, but some things can’t be changed.” Extending a hand, Diantha gestured for Lysandre to step forth, a sincerity in her voice that not even someone of a prestigious actor could feign. “It’s.. strange. It’s strange how Kalos changed so much as you were gone, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it be rude of us to not welcome your arrival back?”

There was no reason to cling so tightly to the past. Casualities, actions done at the time, that was who they were then. A feud that wreaked havoc was something locals attempted to ignore, in all due respect for those who had fallen to the blast. Gradually,  it began to never cross their minds.

“Ah, right. You did your time, didn’t you? Admittedly, we hadn’t originally given up on you from the start. If anything, we were eagerly awaiting your release! It isn’t really a Christmas without you.” The cheer that welled in the soul of Sycamore was verbally expressed, having derived happiness from the sight of him, instead of anger or distress. In fact, nobody had looked at him far too odd; cellmates, passerbys.. had 25 years reshaped history as is?

It was easy to say.. 'fate had been so lenient with Lysandre’.

A thin lipped grin matched those of both _Augustine_ and Diantha, the homely feel entwining itself in the bonds of friendships they had all shared. “Is that so? I’d hope you’ve been paying attention to that roast you were cooking before. Wasn’t it just about 'ready’?” The thick air may not have just been imaginary to Lysandre’s mind, head trying to peer into the kitchens corridor, the general narrowness rendering his attempts futile. “But.. you have my thanks. I can only guess that the future for us is something more positive than before, won’t it now?”

The only noises to come of Sycamore were the 'tongues’ he wrote so frequently in his works. Stumbling towards the kitchen, a posture he maintained formerly had sprawled into a panic, clangs of the sort piercing the ears of both Diantha and Lysandre.

“It really is burnt! I can’t believe we forgot about the roast, of all things!” Came forth the distressed cries of the professor, smoke slinking up against the hallways, daring to strike at the smoke detectors if evasive action hadn’t been taken.

The hijinks he missed.

The friendships he had assumed were now left in rubble.

Only one last thing could have been said by now.

With a faint chuckle, Diantha sighed fondly to herself, eyes slipping shut

if only for a moment. “We really should help him, shouldn’t we? But, there’s only one last thing to say on this.”

Her amused expression hardly faltered, regardless of the topic. A quiet silence infiltrated by the cries of the professor in need of aid so desperately. The feeling of friendship was no longer foreign.

“Welcome home, Lysandre.”


End file.
